Something in the Sight (Fuji/Yukimura, Tezuka, model!au)
Title: Something in the Sight
Characters: Fuji/Yukimura, Tezuka
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~ 1120
Summary: Tezuka watches.
Notes: Written for d_angel777 for a smut meme. It's part of the model!au universe.
-
"The studio should be empty," Tezuka hears, in the hall outside of his office. It's easily identifiable as Fuji, not only in the tones but in the very words - no one else would be sneaking around the studio-
"Tezuka's still here."
-with the exception of Yukimura.
Tezuka reaches up and pulls off his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose. He's been focusing on a design for hours; perhaps a break is a good idea. He reaches for the door, intending to find his models, but stops.
In the hall, there's no voices or footsteps, which makes him frown; no doors had opened to indicate that Fuji and Yukimura disappeared into one of the rooms, and there's no reason for them to simply be standing in the hall.
Quietly, Tezuka continues, opening the door, and looks outside; there's Fuji and Yukimura, leaning against the door to the largest of the dressing rooms. Tezuka assumes that was their destination, never reached, because they are entangled in each other: bodies pressing, lips meeting.
Tezuka stares, and thinks, knows, he should look away, but something keeps his eyes fixated on them. There's not a reason he can give, for he doesn't know why he wants to stare. He's seen both Yukimura and Fuji in various states of undress, from covered in clothes to completely nude, and neither of them do anything for him then.
He's also working then, his mind tells him, and for now - he's not.
Across the length of the hall, Tezuka sees Fuji's hands slide up Yukimura's shirt, and the kiss is broken. Fuji's struggling, almost enjoyable, with the buttons on Yukimura's shirt - Tezuka's mind identifies it as one of his own, three seasons back - and Yukimura attaches his lips to Fuji's neck, all while attempting to find the doorknob that will let them into the dressing room.
"That's going to leave a mark." Fuji chuckles, and Tezuka realizes he's missed something, knows what it is when Yukimura draws back and Fuji turns slightly, so Tezuka can see the red mark in the hollow of his collarbone.
"You know the power of make-up," Yukimura tells him, and finally finds the doorknob, twisting it and letting the door swing open. His shirt falls off his shoulders as he walks in; neither pay attention to it.
Neither think to close the door.
Tezuka waits until he thinks they will once again be engrossed in each other, and walks across the hall, moving quietly. There was no need to, because Fuji and Yukimura are too busy focusing on each other to notice him, or so it seems.
Fuji's tongue is doing something to Yukimura's nipples that Tezuka can't see, thanks to the fall of the model's hair. All he can tell is that Yukimura is sighing and arching, looking like an indulgent cat, and once again, Tezuka can't take his eyes off the bodies in front of him. And when Yukimura hisses and arches, and Fuji chuckles against his chest, Tezuka starts wishing he was closer, or that Fuji's hair wasn't so long, just so he can see.
Fuji's still in too much clothing; Yukimura, at least, seems to think of it that way, because he wraps his legs around the body on top of his, and flips them. For the first time, Tezuka realizes that this is something familiar he's witnessing: they've done this before, he's sure of it.
He watches Yukimura's fingers push up the material of Fuji's shirt, until it's bunched under his arms, exposing Fuji's pale chest; and Tezuka continues to watch as Yukimura leans down, bypassing any sensitive chest areas, to dip his tongue into Fuji's navel and continue lower.
Yukimura's notoriously hard to actually dress; he smiles and pleads with that too-innocent look of his that he can't reach certain zippers or that his fingers are sore and the buttons slip; it's usually Tezuka himself who ends up helping the model into anything he's putting on for shows. But as he watches now, Yukimura teases the buttons of Fuji's jeans with his teeth and tongue, prying them open, and doing the same to the zipper.
At least his mouth his talented, Tezuka thinks, and abruptly stops that train of thought before it can grow, and concentrates on the way the two look rather than on Yukimura's mouth. It's a good thing, because Yukimura slides up again, for another kiss, and Tezuka doesn't concern himself with watching them kiss, but rather how their bodies fit together and they move, backs arching to press closer together. And Tezuka sees Fuji's nails rack down Yukimura's bare back.
That explains the scrapes he often has.
Fuji's hand slips between their bodies, and quickly undoes the zipper to Yukimura's pants; he manages easily enough, and Tezuka suspects his earlier struggle with Yukimura's shirt was pretense, simply to drag the night along. And Fuji is the one to flip them this time, straddles Yukimura's hips, and murmurs something low enough that Tezuka can't hear it. There's a quick nod, and something else spoken so low he still can't hear, and then a flurry of movement: Fuji standing to fully shed his pants, Yukimura lifting his hips to push his off, and then they're pressing against each other once again.
There is something odd about this, Tezuka thinks, but he doesn't focus on the feeling, mostly because he notices Fuji sucking on his fingers, and he knows only too well what that means.
Yukimura lifts his leg, settles it on Fuji's shoulder, and Tezuka glances at his face once, then Fuji's, and decides looking at their faces is too much of a risk. He settles on their bodies instead.
With no lube, even with saliva, Tezuka's sure Fuji sliding in a finger has to hurt. Especially when a second finger joins, with little time given to Yukimura to relax. But Yukimura betrays nothing, except for a slight moan that doesn't seem to be as painful as Tezuka suspects it has to feel.
The rush of it seems odd to him; he knows them both, well enough to understand behaviour patterns, and neither are the type to rush something. He's not going to question it for now.
Fuji's fingers are gone and he's grasping Yukimura's leg to steady himself, and this is what Tezuka's known was coming since he saw them kissing in the hall; what he won't admit to himself, but what he wants to see. And so he steps forward quietly, and thinks that they are both focusing so firmly on what is happening that they won't notice him. But Yukimura meets his eyes, and then Fuji turns and does the same, and Tezuka's frozen in place, listening to the sounds of two of his models fucking each other on the floor.
Characters: Fuji/Yukimura, Tezuka
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~ 1120
Summary: Tezuka watches.
Notes: Written for d_angel777 for a smut meme. It's part of the model!au universe.
-
"The studio should be empty," Tezuka hears, in the hall outside of his office. It's easily identifiable as Fuji, not only in the tones but in the very words - no one else would be sneaking around the studio-
"Tezuka's still here."
-with the exception of Yukimura.
Tezuka reaches up and pulls off his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose. He's been focusing on a design for hours; perhaps a break is a good idea. He reaches for the door, intending to find his models, but stops.
In the hall, there's no voices or footsteps, which makes him frown; no doors had opened to indicate that Fuji and Yukimura disappeared into one of the rooms, and there's no reason for them to simply be standing in the hall.
Quietly, Tezuka continues, opening the door, and looks outside; there's Fuji and Yukimura, leaning against the door to the largest of the dressing rooms. Tezuka assumes that was their destination, never reached, because they are entangled in each other: bodies pressing, lips meeting.
Tezuka stares, and thinks, knows, he should look away, but something keeps his eyes fixated on them. There's not a reason he can give, for he doesn't know why he wants to stare. He's seen both Yukimura and Fuji in various states of undress, from covered in clothes to completely nude, and neither of them do anything for him then.
He's also working then, his mind tells him, and for now - he's not.
Across the length of the hall, Tezuka sees Fuji's hands slide up Yukimura's shirt, and the kiss is broken. Fuji's struggling, almost enjoyable, with the buttons on Yukimura's shirt - Tezuka's mind identifies it as one of his own, three seasons back - and Yukimura attaches his lips to Fuji's neck, all while attempting to find the doorknob that will let them into the dressing room.
"That's going to leave a mark." Fuji chuckles, and Tezuka realizes he's missed something, knows what it is when Yukimura draws back and Fuji turns slightly, so Tezuka can see the red mark in the hollow of his collarbone.
"You know the power of make-up," Yukimura tells him, and finally finds the doorknob, twisting it and letting the door swing open. His shirt falls off his shoulders as he walks in; neither pay attention to it.
Neither think to close the door.
Tezuka waits until he thinks they will once again be engrossed in each other, and walks across the hall, moving quietly. There was no need to, because Fuji and Yukimura are too busy focusing on each other to notice him, or so it seems.
Fuji's tongue is doing something to Yukimura's nipples that Tezuka can't see, thanks to the fall of the model's hair. All he can tell is that Yukimura is sighing and arching, looking like an indulgent cat, and once again, Tezuka can't take his eyes off the bodies in front of him. And when Yukimura hisses and arches, and Fuji chuckles against his chest, Tezuka starts wishing he was closer, or that Fuji's hair wasn't so long, just so he can see.
Fuji's still in too much clothing; Yukimura, at least, seems to think of it that way, because he wraps his legs around the body on top of his, and flips them. For the first time, Tezuka realizes that this is something familiar he's witnessing: they've done this before, he's sure of it.
He watches Yukimura's fingers push up the material of Fuji's shirt, until it's bunched under his arms, exposing Fuji's pale chest; and Tezuka continues to watch as Yukimura leans down, bypassing any sensitive chest areas, to dip his tongue into Fuji's navel and continue lower.
Yukimura's notoriously hard to actually dress; he smiles and pleads with that too-innocent look of his that he can't reach certain zippers or that his fingers are sore and the buttons slip; it's usually Tezuka himself who ends up helping the model into anything he's putting on for shows. But as he watches now, Yukimura teases the buttons of Fuji's jeans with his teeth and tongue, prying them open, and doing the same to the zipper.
At least his mouth his talented, Tezuka thinks, and abruptly stops that train of thought before it can grow, and concentrates on the way the two look rather than on Yukimura's mouth. It's a good thing, because Yukimura slides up again, for another kiss, and Tezuka doesn't concern himself with watching them kiss, but rather how their bodies fit together and they move, backs arching to press closer together. And Tezuka sees Fuji's nails rack down Yukimura's bare back.
That explains the scrapes he often has.
Fuji's hand slips between their bodies, and quickly undoes the zipper to Yukimura's pants; he manages easily enough, and Tezuka suspects his earlier struggle with Yukimura's shirt was pretense, simply to drag the night along. And Fuji is the one to flip them this time, straddles Yukimura's hips, and murmurs something low enough that Tezuka can't hear it. There's a quick nod, and something else spoken so low he still can't hear, and then a flurry of movement: Fuji standing to fully shed his pants, Yukimura lifting his hips to push his off, and then they're pressing against each other once again.
There is something odd about this, Tezuka thinks, but he doesn't focus on the feeling, mostly because he notices Fuji sucking on his fingers, and he knows only too well what that means.
Yukimura lifts his leg, settles it on Fuji's shoulder, and Tezuka glances at his face once, then Fuji's, and decides looking at their faces is too much of a risk. He settles on their bodies instead.
With no lube, even with saliva, Tezuka's sure Fuji sliding in a finger has to hurt. Especially when a second finger joins, with little time given to Yukimura to relax. But Yukimura betrays nothing, except for a slight moan that doesn't seem to be as painful as Tezuka suspects it has to feel.
The rush of it seems odd to him; he knows them both, well enough to understand behaviour patterns, and neither are the type to rush something. He's not going to question it for now.
Fuji's fingers are gone and he's grasping Yukimura's leg to steady himself, and this is what Tezuka's known was coming since he saw them kissing in the hall; what he won't admit to himself, but what he wants to see. And so he steps forward quietly, and thinks that they are both focusing so firmly on what is happening that they won't notice him. But Yukimura meets his eyes, and then Fuji turns and does the same, and Tezuka's frozen in place, listening to the sounds of two of his models fucking each other on the floor.